


FlashSlash - 4 ficlets, prompts 142 and 144

by DorsetGirl



Category: Sharpe (TV), Sharpe - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-18 12:55:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28867380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DorsetGirl/pseuds/DorsetGirl
Summary: Sharpe and Harper enjoy warm dark nights.
Relationships: Patrick Harper/Richard Sharpe
Kudos: 1





	FlashSlash - 4 ficlets, prompts 142 and 144

**Author's Note:**

> [Flashslash](https://flashslash.livejournal.com/) is a now-inactive comm where the idea is to pick a fandom, look at a list of four prompt words, and then allow yourself 8 minutes to write a slashfic in that fandom using all four words. I don't always manage all four, but as I'm mainly doing this to get comfortable on the horse again I'm not too worried about that - I'm just enjoying writing again after so many years away.

**FlashSlash Challenge 142 - Prompt Set 1 - row, fathom, entwine, order**

“Will you take an order from me, Harper?” Sharpe whispered in the dark.

“Always, sir, you know that,” Harper responded softly.

“Move closer then, so I can feel you properly.”

Harper moved carefully so he was on top of Sharpe, skin to skin with their cocks touching, and entwined his fingers wonderingly in that beautiful blond hair.

He could never fathom just what the Captain saw in an unrepentant Irish peasant, but he’d never complained before about being invited to bed a superior officer - they seemed to enjoy his size and strength - and he wasn’t going to start now.

Oh, but this one was different, so he was. For a man who was such a fierce fighter, who could march all day and never tire, who could outrun, outfight and outdrink any two of his men, his body freed of the encasing uniform was so thin and fragile-looking, Harper was scared sometimes he’d hurt the Captain when he really got going.

“You’re beautiful, so you are, Richard. May I call you Richard, Sir? Just when we’re - alone together, sir?”

There was silence for a moment and Harper feared he’d gone too far. This one really was special and Harper didn’t want to be banished before he’d truly had a chance to enjoy the man.

“Yes. Yes, call me Richard - Patrick.”

Patrick started to move gently and the captain’s quiet words turned to moans.

~ ~ ~

**FlashSlash Challenge 142 - Prompt Set 2 - twinkle, phrase, afterthought, repel**

Afterwards they lay still together, and Sharpe allowed himself to relax a while. There was something about Harper that made him feel safe.

Something about the twinkle in his eye at the deepest most exciting moments that showed the sergeant was just as enamoured of this strange liaison they had as he was himself, but would never take advantage outside of this slightly overcrowded bed.

He tried to think of the phrase Harper had used earlier on; it had been an afterthought to one of his little “God Save Ireland” rants and it had tickled Sharpe.

Oh yes, that was it.

“A man of my good looks, sir, has a lot of experience in repelling officers who might want to take advantage. But I can tell you’re not one of those, are you now sir? I think you’re a decent man Richard, though you probably never want to admit it.”

Sharpe had laughed. 

“Yes, let that be my epitaph, Patrick. _He was a decent man_.”

“Now then, sir, let’s not be getting too deep in the melancholy now, we have the whole night ahead of us before we have to worry about the battle sir. Can I interest you in a bit of brandy first?”

And of course it turned out that he could, and it further turned out that they could interest each other in quite a lot of other things too, with the result that it had been nearly time for Sharpe to report for the captains' briefing before they’d got any rest at all.

But at least today he’d carry into battle with him a few aching muscles and sore spots, and the memory of being held warm and tight all night with the whispers of a protective Irishman falling softly into his slumber.

~ ~ ~

**Flashslash - Challenge 144 - Prompt Set 1 - pick, warren, pomegranate, shove**

They both looked at it, baffled.

“What is it, Pat?”

“Blessed if I know, sir. Something Ramona’s mother sent her. Says it’s a fruit of some kind.”

“Never seen owt like that before,” Sharpe said suspiciously. “How do we know it’s safe to eat?”

“Well, sir - we could offer it to Sir Henry. If he doesn’t die of it - we get Ramona’s mother to send another one for us to try.”

Sharpe shrugged and stood up. “Don’t know as I’m that fussed, Pat. Any day I don’t have to set eyes on Sir Henry Simmerson is a good day for me. Lot of fuss if you ask me, just for a pommy, pommy ...

“Pomegranate, sir.”

“Yeah, that.”

“No, I’ve decided,” Sharpe said, shoving the pomegranate aside. “I want rabbit for me dinner. Get Hagman to go down to the warren at sunset when they’re all quiet and pick us off a few.”

“Oh yes, sir, that’s a much better idea so it is,” agreed Harper. “You know, I’ve just had another thought what we could do with this.” He picked up the fruit and walked close to Sharpe with it.

Sharpe backed away. “Leave off, will you! Take it away from me.”

“You sure you don’t want...?”

“I am sure, Pat. Shove it over there out the way, get Hagman off after those rabbits and then come back here. Got something for you a bit more comfortable than that, I think.”

Pat was back in two minutes.

~ ~ ~

**Flashslash - Challenge 144 - Prompt Set 2 - amnesia, lick, temperature, credible**

When all was said and done, Sharpe knew he’d give everything he had to cure Pat’s amnesia. But he didn’t know where to start.

“Just talk to him,” they said. “Let him know you’re here, remind him who you are. “

“Remind him who _he_ is.”

Day after day he sat in the fetid hospital, temperatures far above what was bearable, but he saw no choice. Pat was too ill to take out of here, so here Sharpe would be.

Sometimes he’d talk about old battles, places they’d been. It seemed scarcely credible that it was two years since Waterloo. It only felt like yesterday.

Eventually, Sharpe came to realise that it wasn’t working. Pat wasn’t responding, wasn’t getting any better. 

Still didn’t know who Sharpe was or who he was.

“Right,” said Sharpe one morning. “Enough. He’s coming home with me, to France. I’ll look after him.”

They boarded the boat late one chilly evening and ducked into the little forecabin Sharpe had chosen the boat for.

“Just leave us to it,” he said. “You sail the boat and I’’ll look after Pat.”

Through the night he held Harper tight, talked to him, stroked him. Loved him. 

Licked him.

Talked to him again, loved him again. As the walls of Cherbourg came into view, Sharpe dozed off for a minute and was shocked into wakefulness by a voice he hadn’t heard for a long time.

“Bloody hell, Richard. What in God’s name are you doing here? And where the devil are we anyway?”

Sharpe had to wipe something out of his eyes before he could focus on Harper.

“So you’re back with us, you daft bugger! You had me worried. Come here, let me hold you again.”

And Harper returned the hug and grinned like nothing had ever changed between them.

~ ~ ~


End file.
